


Enclosed

by HappilyUnconventional34



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Lance (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Team Bonding, Team as Family, keith gets many hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-04-06 07:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19057894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappilyUnconventional34/pseuds/HappilyUnconventional34
Summary: "An involuntary whimper leaves his mouth as he watches the darkness in the closet warp and shift. Keith presses himself as far into the wall as he could, his eyes never leaving the horrifying apparition as it began to take form."In which Keith is extremely Claustrophobic and Lance discovers this in the worst way possible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just got back into Voltron (now that can enjoy it adjacent from the craziness) and I have a lot of feelings about Keith, who is still my favorite character. I love him like my own son and because I love him, he must suffer. Also, I’m claustrophobic. One time I got locked in a pretty small closet and almost broke the door down trying to get out. This is set around S1 ish.

“I still don’t know why you of all people needed to come with me.”

Keith rolls his eyes at Lance’s snide remark, willing himself to keep his calm.

Their most recent battle with Zarkon had left their engines sprouting a fair bit of cosmetic damage. Not enough to significantly hinder them but enough that Coran wanted to have it fixed before it became a bigger issue. Fortunately, the special Altean disk that Coran needed to fix the engine was stocked in a storage room located deep in the bowels of the ship. Unfortunately, due to the extent of the damage to the engine they needed quite a few and because Coran wanted the engine fixed as fast as possible for the sake of efficiency it as was decided that they would need a pair to go and retrieve the disks.

And guess who the lucky pair was.

The walk down to the storage docks had been mostly silently if a bit tense, broken only by Lance’s long-suffering and overdramatic sighs, and an occasional huff of annoyance. But it seems that now that their little journey was nearing its end, Lance had no problem voicing his displeasure at being in Keith’s presence beyond his aggravating non-verbal ques.                     

“Because Coran would rather it only  take us a few trips to get the materials that we need rather than the 25 trips it would take for you to do it yourself.” Keith snipes, working to keep the rising annoyance out of his voice. The hallways were getting narrower the deeper they went down, and it was putting him a bit on edge. Keith ran a hand through his hair in an effort to alleviate the slight tingling sensation that settled at his scalp.

Lance bristled at the barely hidden jab, his face twisting into a deep scowl.

“What’s that supposed to mean, mullet?”

“Nothing beanpole.” Keith snaps back without missing a beat. He quickly picks up the pace as the lower deck storage closet came into view, leaving Lance stuttering behind him and ignoring his indignant shout of “You’re one to talk!”. He just wanted to get the things they needed so he could go up to the training deck and fight off this damn nagging feeling of unease.

Hitting the door’s open button with a little more force than necessary, Keith felt his world stop as the door whooshed open.

The closet was a tight fit. Barely bigger than the healing pods. Keith eyes the tiny space wearily. The tingling feeling from earlier beat gently against the crown of head and his fingers twitch with the intense need to once again run his fingers through his hair. He sucked in a deep breath, eyeing the small cluster of tiny clear boxes filled with translucent star-shaped disk that he assumed were the tools they needed. He knew he needed to get them, needed to actually step in the closet but for some strange reason his legs just wouldn’t move.

“They’re not gonna get up to the engine room if you just sit there staring at them, you know.” Lance grouses, shoving past him impatiently. Keith starts, the harsh bump returning him to awareness. He aims a scowl at Lance backs, but silently follows the other’s lead.

Between the two of them, they make quick work of clearing out the closet of the needed materials. For the most part. Lance seemed to have taken Keith’s beanpole comment to heart, and Keith can’t resist rolling his eyes as he watches Lance’s face grow red with strain as he struggles beneath the weight of the last six boxes.

“I don’t need your help!” Lance snaps when Keith moves over to assist him. Keith ignores him and plucks three of the boxes out of Lance’s arms.

“You’ll drop them, idiot.” He can practically feels Lance’s glare on his neck, but he doesn’t have the time or patience to cater to Lance’s ego. All he wants to do is get the damn disks and put as much distance as he could between him and this stupid closet.

 “Newsflash, _idiot_. You already dropped one while you were trying to show off by taking the boxes I was having absolutely no trouble with!” Lance snaps as he sets his boxes down with more force than necessary. Keith’s brow furrows.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did!” Lance points to the far corner of the closet. Keith sets down his boxes with a sigh and reluctantly steps back into the closet, following Lance’s finger.

“Lance, there’s nothing-“

Keith’s cuts himself off as he hears the sound of a button being pushed. He whips around just in time to catch Lance’s mischievous smile before the door whooshes close, encasing his entire world in darkness.

There’s a moment in which Keith can’t move, his mind too overwhelmed with shock and then he hears Lance’s high-pitched snickers and feeling returns in the form of pure unadulterated rage.

 “Lance!” He roars, surging towards the door and banging a fist against it, “What the fuck!”

 “I-I don’t know what h-happened, bud.” Keith couldn’t see him, but he could feel the smirk in Lance’s voice. “The door just c-closed.”

“Are you shitting me!?” Red hot anger coursed through Keith veins, and he latches onto it desperately, if only to ignore the icy cold feeling that trickles at the back of his neck. “Let me out now!”

“Hmm, what was that?” Keith can’t tell if it’s because he’s on the other side of the door or because of the roaring in his ears, but Lance’s voice is muffled, distant. “Did you say something? I can’t really hear you. ”

“Fuck you Lance!” Keith snarls, digging his fingers into the groove of the door, trying to pry it open. It doesn’t so much as budge. Keith feels his heart stutter and his breath pick up. He digs his fingers in deeper, yanks harder. The tingling feeling in his scalp returns, but now it’s intensified into a dull ache. He tries his best to ignore it. “This isn’t fucking funny! Let me out now!”

“OoOohhhh, such aggressive language.” And something about Lance’s voice steals Keith’s breath away. Had it always been so deep? Had his laugh always been so sinister? “Maybe I should leave you in there for a while and let you cool down some.”

Keith feels his heart stop at those words, His stomach lurches, his mouth dries. The closet somehow becomes smaller, darker.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

“Don’t you fucking dare!”  Keith hates the slight tremor in his voice. He yanks harder at the door, throws his whole body into trying to make those immovable slabs of metal budge. He feels the strain in his arms as he tugs with all his might. “Let me out Lance! Let me out!”

Lance doesn’t answer. Doesn’t so much as snicker. Keith stops trying to open the door. He presses against the cool metal, his ear flush against the door, and to his horror he just barely picks up the sound of receding footsteps.

No. Keith numbly steps away from the door, backing away from it until his back hits the wall. No. No. No. Nononononono.

Lance had left him. He’d locked him up and left him.

He hadn’t done anything wrong! He didn’t-

“Calm down. Calm down. You’re okay.” Keith said to himself as he tried desperately to get his breathing under control.

“LANCE!” He tries to scream, but his mouth was too dry. All he manages is a hoarse whisper.

Time trickled by slowly, only the sounds of his panicked breathing and pounding heart permeating the absolute silence. A painful cramp raced up his stomach. He feels the world shift, his equilibrium completely thrown.  He can’t remember the last time he ate or drank. Three days? Four? How long had he been in here? He wraps an arm around his middle, presses a palm into his stomach.

He needed to call out again, needed to get someone’s attention, but no he couldn’t. He’d get in trouble if he made to much noise.

An involuntary whimper leaves his mouth as he watches the darkness in the closet warp and shift. Keith presses himself as far into the wall as he could, his eyes never leaving the horrifying apparition as it began to take form.

_There was someone there. He could see him. He was coming closer and Keith, he couldn’t hide. He was trapped._

The walls were closing in. The closet was growing darker, the shadowy figure more pronounced. It was large, larger than Shiro and Hunk combined and oh so horrifyingly familiar. Keith squeezed his eyes shut, buried his hands in his hair, fighting off the phantom feeling of larger ( ** _wrongwrongwrong_** ) fingers yanking savagely at his hair, ripping at his scalp and a heavy hand wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air, _silencing his screams._

His ears strain to catch any sound over his short stuttering breaths and then he hears it, the sound of a heavy footfall against the floor followed by a low menacing chuckle.

Keith eyes fly open, terror blurring his vision and with a mad shout, he throws himself against the locked door with all his power, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only: Freedom. He slams his shoulder against the door, punches wildly at the metal frame, scrapes his fingers down the smooth groves where they met. The pain in his shoulder doesn’t register, the blood flowing down his spilt knuckles and past his cracked fingernails doesn’t matter.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until he chocked, his lungs trying to pull in air around his loud gasping sobs.

“LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!” Keith screams. He’d do anything, beg, plead, if only he’d let him out! “LET ME OUT! PLEASE GOD, LET ME OUT!”

The sudden rush of light as the door whooshes open stings his eyes. With the barrier keeping him upright gone, Keith finds himself crumpling forward, his legs utterly unable to support his weight. He falls to his knees heavily, barely having the sense of mind to brace his hands against the floor.

Hands, long, slender and _unfamiliar_ , flint across his arms and Keith, half blind from relief and terror, twists away from them with a hoarse shout, his arms flying to protect his head, blooded fingers digging into his hair.

 “KEITH! KEITH!”

He could barely hear the frantic voice calling his name, too concerned with pulling air into his heaving lungs a broken mantra swirling in his frenzied mind.

_Air. Light, Free!_

Keith heaves, his stomach cramping against emptiness. His head is on fire. He chokes against breathless sobs as the pain intensifies into a pounding headache.

“Keith, buddy please! I’m sorry! Holy shit, just calm down. Breathe!” Keith ignores the voice completely and presses tighter into his protective curl as he feels the person draw closer.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” He screams so loud his voice cracks.

 “K-keith, _please_. I’m not- I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m sorry! Just please, please you need to calm down.”

The hands are back on him, cold and unfamiliar ( ** _wrongwrongwrong)_** , and suddenly they're pulling at his wrists, fingers brushing against his hair and **_someone_** is leaning over him

And it’s all just **_too much_**.

With a guttural roar he shoves against the blurry mass with enough force to send his assailant flying backwards. There’s a breathless shout and a sound like glass breaking but Keith pays it no mind, his thoughts focused only on escape. He stumbles blindly to his feet and runs full tilt down the narrow hallway on unsteady legs, the indent of cruel fingers and savage hands still burning against his skin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. How did this get so long? I have no idea, but I hop you guys enjoy it. I would have had it out sooner but something was fucking with my laptop and I had to find a way to transfer my work to a new computer and it was a whole ordeal.

  
When 45 minutes have passed and Keith and Lance still haven’t made their first trip back, Shiro knows he has to go and look for them. He volunteers before Allura can even speak, the two of them trading an exasperated gaze, and walks out the engine room, Hunk and Pidge’s snickers and Coran’s long suffering sighs beating against his back.

Shiro makes haste through the winding maze of narrow hallways that lead to the storage docks, his mind conjuring all types of scenarios that could have contributed to Lance and Keith’s delay. Getting lost, arguing, and fighting over the boxes are among the few ways he expects to find them.

What he didn’t expect was to find is Lance slumped against the wall, tears running down his face, surrounded by tiny shards of translucent glass.

“Lance.” Shiro breathes and then he's racing over, his boots crunching against the scattered glass. He kneels next to the younger Paladin, who flinches as Shiro throws a barrage of questions his way.

“Lance! Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened? Where's Keith?” At the mention of Keith’s name, Lance jerks so violently he nearly topples over. Shiro eyes him, unnerved by the strong response.

“I’m sorry.” Lance whispers. That immediately sets off multiple alarms.

“Lance.” Shiro starts carefully, “what happened?”

Lance takes a while to drag his gaze away from the floor but when his eye finally meets Shiro, their brimming with tear, shame and a painful amount of guilt.

“I didn't m-mean too.” Lance chokes.

“Didn’t mean to what?” Shiro asks,  tendrils of dread beginning to settle in his stomach.

“I-I we were getting the disks, and I – just wanted to mess with him a bit so I locked Keith in the closet and he-”

“You did what!?” Shiro honestly doesn’t mean to shout, but he can’t help it, because of all the things glance could have done. Lance flinches and drops his eyes the floor, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. Shiro drags his eyes over to the droplets of blood that litter the floor. They make a trail that lead over to an absolutely _tiny_ closet. “Lance...”

“It was just a joke.” Lance whispers, “We were arguing and I- I just wanted to rattle him a bit. I didn't- I didn't know he was claustrophobic and- he was screaming so loud and he wouldn’t even let me touch him when I opened the door. I just-I would have never – If I knew- It sounded like he was dying in there, Shiro. Like something was actually trying to kill him.” Lance’s voice hitches. “He begged me to let him out.”

Anger, Shiro feels it lapping at his control, sharp and powerful, because it’s so much more than something as simple as claustrophobia and if Lance's description of Keith’s reaction is anything to go by everything he feared has just been painfully dragged back to the surface. Shiro clamps down on the budding anger harshly. As much as he wants to give in to it, it was unfair for him to be angry at Lance at least for that. Lance had not known. There was no way he could have known. Anger would not change the outcome and most importantly it would not help Keith. But still...

“Even if you didn’t know, what you did was wrong and childish.” Lance flinches again but Shiro continues, voice carefully even, because even if he doesn't understand the extent of the damage his little prank did, he needs to understand it cant happen again. “That’s not how you settle a disagreement and you know it. I expected better.”

Lance wont look at him. Shiro sees his lips wobble dangerously.

“Go back to the others and tell Pidge and Hunk that they’re on disk retrieval duty and make sure Coran does something about the cuts on your hands. I’m going to go and find Keith.”

Lance, still refusing to look at him, gives a tiny minuscule nod, and carefully picks himself up from the floor. He trudges down the hall, his head down and shoulders slumped.

Shiro watches him go, heart heavy. He looks down at the mess of glass on the floor, his stomach twisting at the dark red specks of blood spattered against the floor.

\---

Block. Block. Hit.

_Large Fingers. Thick. Stubby. Stained with Cigarette ash, pulling, nearly ripping._

Block. Block. Hit.

_Tiny Fingers. Small. Blood-stained. Clawing at the floor. Pulling at the hands._

Block. Block. Hit.

_Purple. Black. Yellow. Marks shaped like the fingers. Bruises carved from the fists._

Block. Block. Hit.

Keith settles into the familiar routine as he a fights against the training drone. Block the parry. Block the thrust. Hit at it’s weak point.

Rinse and repeat.

His bayard trembles in his hand, his busted and bleeding knuckles protesting his iron hold. Blood drips on the floor. If Keith focuses on it long enough, looks at it hard enough, it shifts from a translucent white to a rotten brown. The bloodstains remain.

Block. Block. Hit.

Keith doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t want to feel. He doesn’t want to remember. He just wants to act.

Block. Block. Hit.

\-----

Shiro watches Keith from the door of the training dock. Keith has yet to notice him, to engrossed in his battle with the training bot. Shiro watches the mechanical stiffness of Keith’s movement, notices the dull blankness in his eyes and feel his heart twist. It’s.. not as bad as it could be, not as bad as Shiro’s seen it become but it’s still bad and require a delicateness Shiro is far too experienced in. After all, Shiro learned how to deal with his own episodes from dealing with Keith’s.

“End training sequence.” He makes sure his voice is loud in clear. He has no intention of sneaking up on Keith especially in this state.

Shiro takes in the dazed and frenzied gaze when Keith, his object of focus gone, whips around to stare at him and instantly he knows that in that moment Keith is not looking at him, that he’s not seeing _**Shiro**_ but instead the tall and board figure of a grown man. Knows it from the way he shrinks in on himself, from the way he brings his bayard up, clutching the handle with split fingernails and busted knuckles to protect himself. White hot fury burns through his veins as the absolute terror in Keith’s gaze confirms the identity of the man inspired that fear. It takes everything that he has not to scream.

Instead, he stops, hands up, a good distance away from Keith. He hunches his shoulders, draws his arms in, wipes his face of anything that could be mistaken as anger.

“Hey Keith.” he whispers softly, “It’s me. It’s Shiro.”

Keith doesn't acknowledge him verbally but Shiro sees his should relax just a tad and watches a tiny bit of color return to his cheeks.

“You certainly did a number on your hands there huh? It must hurt. I think you might be making them worse, holding your bayard so tight. You might want to loosen your grip just a bit. You don't have to put it down, just ease up on your hold a bit. That’s it.” Shiro internally leaps for joy when the bayard drops a bit in Keith’s hold. He’s listening and responding. That was good. “I know you must be feeling a bit shaken up. You just experienced something pretty scary.” Keith tenses, primal fear bleeding back into his eyes, and Shiro quickly changes track. “You really did a number on the training bot, your footwork was great and you predicted his pattern well, but he got in some good hits on you. You’re bruising up a bit and that’s not even touching on your fingers. Can I come closer and have a look?”

Keith unblinkingly holds his gaze. Shiro doesn’t move, doesn't take a single step, and keeps his hands up and stance passive. A minute passes. Two. Three. Ten. Shiro watches and waits patiently for Keith to give him the okay. Fifteen minutes pass and then full awareness finally bleeds back into those blank eyes, and Keith gives Shiro the okay in the form of a barely noticeable nod.

Relief washes over Shiro at Keith's unspoken permission. Making sure to keep his movements slow and deliberate as he makes his way over to Keith, pausing every few steps in case Keith felt the need to pull back. Keith is still and as silent as the grave when Shiro make it to his side. Shiro immediately reaches for Keith’s free hand and take it gently in his own. The damage is so much worse up close. Keith’s fingers are an absolute wreak. His knuckles are busted, bruised and already starting to swell. Some of his fingernails are cracked and bleeding heavily. Shiro cannot even imagine how much he’s hurting right now.

“Oh, Keith.” Shiro is suddenly overcome by the need to hold this boy. “Can I hug you?”

Almost immediately, Shiro regrets asking, fears he’s overstepped his bounds, but then Keith nods, lets his bayard go and Shiro has him in his arms before he has a chance to think about it.

\----

Arms circle his shoulders, bringing him closer, deeper into a board chest, and Keith followed hungrily, collapsing bonelessly into the warm embrace, his frenzied mind chasing desperately after the elusive comfort. Fingers splayed against his back, a comfortable anchor against the dizzying spiral of his erratic mind.

 _I know these arms_ _._ _I know these hands._ _These arms were safe. These hands were safe._

“ _I’ve got you Keith. I got you.”_

_Shiro is safe. When he’s with Shiro, he’s safe._

_\-----_

Keith follows wordlessly as Shiro slowly lowers them to the floor gently, rearranges them so Keith is sitting in his lap, and tucks Keith’s head under his chin. He feels Keith sigh against his neck as he begins to rock the two of them gently, humming a nonsensical tune.

If freely offered Keith will soak up physical comfort like a sponge and Shiro marvels not for the first time how strong this boy is, how after everything Keith suffered at the hands of that fucking _**monster**_ that he would still let Shiro be this close, let him hold him and comfort him. It was a privilege that Shiro would never take for granted.

“Shiro?” Keith’s voice is rough, scratchy and oh so welcomed.

“Hmm?”

“Please don’t make me go into the healing pods.”

“Keith,” Shiro waits until Keith is looking at him before he continues, his voice soft and resolute, “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

“Thank you.”

‘ _Please don’t.’_ Shiro thinks in despair. _‘Please don’t thank me for offering you the bare minimum amount of decency.’_

But he doesn’t voice this aloud, instead he pulls Keith in closer, increases the pressure of his hug, not too much, just enough to provide a stronger anchor. A small smile gracing his face as he’s rewarded with a soft content sigh. He rocks them both for a few minutes longer, humming in satisfaction when he feels the remaining tension slowly drain out of Keith’s body, until he’s lying completely pliant in his arms, his eyes half-lidded.

“We still got to take care of those hands of yours.” Shiro whispers. He’s hesitant to break the peace that had descended between the two of them but Keith’s injuries really needed tending. “Are you ready to go back to your room? I can treat your hands there.”

Keith nods lazy and Shiro helps him stand. Shiro keeps his arm around Keith’s shoulder and tucks Keith close to his side. If he feels Keith tremble a bit in his hold, he doesn't say anything about it.

\----

Lance runs on autopilot all the way up to the engine room where the others await. His mind is a mess of static and fuzz and he finds that he doesn't have the energy to really deal with anyone. He relays Shiro’s message to Hunk and Pidge, ignores Coran’s curious stare, dodges Allura’s sharp inquiry and all but runs to his room, heedless of his stinging hands, where he stays for hours, simply staring at the ceiling from his bed.

But this proves to be a horrible decision. There, trapped in the silence of his room and at the mercy of his own thoughts there is nothing to stop him from remembering.

Lance remembers how vicious amusement at Keith’s angry yells had turned to confusion when they’d tampered off and then morphed into utter panic when Keith had all but attacked the door, screaming, crying, and practically _begging_ to be let out.

He remembers how he’d nearly tripped over himself trying to get to the door and let Keith out, heart thrumming in fear at what could have possibly made his stoic teammate scream like that.

He remembers how Keith had collapsed on the floor, and instantly rolled into a ball, shoulders shaking with hysterical sobs, his face a mess of tears, nails bloodied and cracked, knuckles busted as he yelled for Lance not to touch him, as if Lance would-would actually _hurt_ him.

He remembers the pain that had ran through his spine when his back connected with the wall, the sound of breaking glass of Keith footstep running away. Away from him.

Lance knows what a phobia is, knows enough about them to know that they could range from mild to severe. Knew they could trigger panic attacks. That’s what he did. In an effort to get one over on Keith he’d actually triggered a panic attack in Keith so severe he wasn't even able to recognize Lance. It didn’t matter that Lance hadn't know. He still did it.

By the time dinner rolls around, guilt is tearing Lance’s stomach inside out so much so that the mere idea of eating brings about a wave of nausea. He can no longer stand the feeling gnawing at his insides. The need to do something, to make this right, propels him to his feet and in the direction of Keith’s room.

Lance stands in front of Keith’s room, his hand hovering mere inches from the door, poised to knock. He doesn't know if Keith will let him in, if he wants to see him, hell if he’s even in his room. He knows he has to knock to find out. And yet even though he knows this, he doesn’t have the courage to bring his hand down.

What would he even say? How could he even begin to fix this?

Lance feels his nerve slowly begin to drain away and he’s just about to turn tail to his room when a voice nearly scares him out his skin.

“Lance?”

Lance whips around to see Shiro, carrying two plates of food goo.

“Shiro. I-uh,” Lance whispers, ”I just wanted to check in on Keith and see how he was doing.”  
  
“Oh.” Lance can practically feel the awkwardness radiating off of Shiro. “I don’t know if he’s really up to-” 

“Please.” His earlier indecision utterly vanishes as an intense urgency to make this right washes over him. “I _need_ to apologize, Shiro. I didn't mean, I would- he has to know I didn’t know!”

Shiro battle with accepting Lance request. Lance watches the fight play out on h is face and he’s struck with terror at the though that Shiro might actually not let him see Keith. But then Shiro's shoulder slump.

“Just,” Shiro breath deeply, “Just let me check with Keith, okay?”

Lance nods frantically and move out the way so Shiro has access to Keith’s door. Just before it closes behind him, he hears Keith’s voice, rough and low.

“ _I don’t want to see him.”_

Lance swallows the lump that forms in his throat at those words, pushing back the hurt that he has absolutely no right to feel. He steps away from Keith's door, wanting nothing more than to slunk to his own room and wallow in his guilt, but he forces himself to stay and await Shiro’s return. He stands outside the room for what feels like hours, fiddling with the bottom of his jacket. He starts to think Shiro might never come back out, but then Keith’s door whooshes open and Shiro steps out. The small smile on his face nearly makes Lance knees buckle in relief. He sidesteps Shiro, only to have Shiro gently take his arm and lean in close to his ear.

“Don’t push. Don't antagonize him. Keep your voice low and soft. If he allows it, he likes it when you apply pressure when you hug him. Good Luck.”

And then Shiro is gone and it’s just him and Keith.

Keith looks absolutely horrible. His hair is a mess, dotted with specks of dried blood. His eyes are red-rimmed and dark. His hands have thankfully been bandaged, and curiously enough so are his arms , though Lance can just barely make out the large purple and blue bruise peeking over the sided of one. All in all Keith looks exhausted, and absolutely miserable.

‘ _I did this.’_ Lance thinks, _‘_ _I’m_ _the reason he looks like that.’_

“Well?” Lance jumps, his mind catching up just in time to feel the full weight of Keith glare. “you have something to say?”

Lance mouth opens and closes, brain short circuiting at being put on the spot

“I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I’m... sorry.”

It sounds pathetic even to Lance’s ears.

“Well, you said. You can leave now.”

Lance feels the slightest spark of anger at the callous dismissal, his temper flaring, Shiro advice immediately flying from his mind. Keith just knew how to push his buttons. Couldn’t he see that Lance was trying? Couldn’t he give him just a bit leeway? Why did he have to be such a jerk all the time?

“If I’m such a jerk then why waste your time even apologizing?!” Keith snaps and Lance starts, horror flooding his veins as he realize that he’d said that last part out loud.

“Keith I-”

“Did Shiro put you up to this?“ Keith spits. “Force you to apologize when you’d rather be laughing at stupid baby Keith being afraid of closets!”

“NO! That’s not it at all! I would never-!”

“Save it! I don’t need a fake apology from you! Get out.”

“It’s not fake. I _am_ sorry. Keith please, I didn’t mean-”

“Get out Lance!”

Lance feels helplessness well up inside him. This was quickly turning into a disaster and a part of him really wants to leave before he makes things worst, but he can’t. He knows that if he leaves without at least trying a little harder, this whole incident might be enough to cause irreparable damage to whatever the hell they had. And Lance doesn’t want that because he doesn’t hate Keith, as much as he teases him and he doesn't want Keith to hate him.

“You know,” Lance blurts out, “my aunt is terrified of spiders. She can’t stand them, freaks out at the sight of them.” Keith stares at him. The anger is still clear in his eyes, but it’s joined by a small hint of confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“I never understood why, when I was younger. Spiders weren’t scary to me so I didn’t understand why they were scary to her and neither could my cousin. One day, he got the bright idea to catch one while we were playing outside and throw it at her.” Lance smiles wistfully, his min conjuring up that day, “My Aunt freaked out. She nearly broke her ankle trying to get away from it. We we’re both laughing, until she started crying and hyperventilating. I remember her sitting on the ground scratching at her arms and literally unable to breath no matter how much my mom tried to calm her down. In the end we had to call an ambulance.”  
  
Keith’s listening to him intently now.

“Turns out it wasn’t just as simple as being afraid of spiders, wasn’t even as simple as Arachnophobia. When my Aunt was younger she wasn't even afraid of spiders, she loved them. It wasn’t until she found my great-aunt’s dead in her bed, her body covered in spiders. See, it wasn’t just the Spiders that scared her, it was the memories they brought along with them.”

“It’s like that for you too isn’t it?” Keith stiffens and Lance knows he’s hit the mark, “Small spaces. It’s more than just Claustrophobia. It’s more and it’s terrible and it made you remember something horrible and it’s my fault.“ Lance stares dead into Keith’s and hopes he can convey the sincerity he failed to portray before. “I’m sorry Keith. I shouldn’t have locked you in that closet.”

\-----

Keith doesn't like the way that Lance is looking at him, his eyes soft and understanding and full of, sincerity and…. remorse. That doesn’t make sense. It’s not how things are supposed to go, not how things work between them. Lance always teases him, always laughs at him and thinks the worst of him. He doesn’t apologize, not to Keith. Keith kind of misses the anger. Anger is easier to navigate, easier to latch on to.

Keith has spent years suppressing the memories of that house, years fighting against the nightmares and the phantom pains and to have that forcibly ripped back to the forefront because Lance wanted to be a jerk wasn’t fair.

‘ _It’s alright to be angry.’_ Shiro had told him, ‘ _And you don’t have to forgive him just yet, I wont force you to_ _do_ _anything but I think It’s what’s best f_ _or_ _both of you if you just hear him out.’_

Keith really wanted to hang on to that anger. It felt safer than whatever this was, but the way Lance is looking at him, looking for forgiveness, acknowledgment, anything, it’s nicer than what he’s used to and Keith feels compelled to say something.

“Please don’t do it again.” Keith wishes his voice didn’t sound so small. Lance nods frantically, his eyes bleeding sincerity.

“I won’t. I promise. ”

“There are things that sc-scare me and hurt me.” The admission nearly sticks to his tongue but Keith needs Lance to know this, because Keith doesn't want to to relive anything like what he had to relive today. “There are a lot of things that causes what happened earlier.”  
  
“You mean you have multiple triggers?” Lance clarifies a look of dawning horror on his face.

Triggers. That’s what Shiro calls them too. The things that make Keith freeze sometimes and causes most of Shiro’s nightmares. “Yeah those.”

“That’s usually something that’s important for others to know.” Keith bristles at the hint of accusation in Lance’s tone.

“Excuse me for not going around broadcasting every little personal detail about my life!”

“You’re right. You’re right” Lance amends hastily, “I’m sorry. It’s really not anyone’s business. But you know, if you ever want to-I don’t know talk about it, I’m right here. I mean, I'm not Shiro but I can be some kind of help.”

“You won’t make fun of me?” Keith asks suspiciously because he has to know. Lance sighs gustily and runs a hand through his hair.

“Can’t say I don't deserve that, but no Keith. I would never tease you for this. No one would.”  
  
“Some people have.” Keith whispers. Some people have done worse than tease.

“Well then, they’re asshole who deserve a kick to the face.” Lance snaps. That actually startles a small laugh from Keith. “I mean, who the hell does that?!”

“You’d be surprised.”  
  
An awkward silence quickly descend after that. Lance shifts from side to side and Keith rubs the tips of his thumb across his finger, a nervous habit.

It’s Lance who breaks the silence.

“Sooo, are we gonna hug it out, or?” Keith looks up sharply.

“Huh?”

Lance shrugs, suddenly looking vaguely embarrassed. “You know, hug it out. It’s something my Mom made me and my cousins and sisters do when we argued. Hug away all the bad feelings and all that. We don't _have_ to, but you know….”

Keith stares at Lance, so long the other starts to fidget. Never in a million years would he think that Lance would offer to hug him and never in a million years would Keith actually think he’d be considering it. He almost thinks that this is another mandatory thing, something to make Lance feel better about earlier, but he said Keith didn't have to. But a hug really did sound nice…

Tentatively, Keith stretches out his arms, an unspoken gesture that he usually only offered to Shiro. Lance looks absolutely floored at his invitation. He hesitates for only a second before he’s crosses the room and wraps his arms around Keith's shoulders in a loose embrace. Keith flinches slightly, a reflex, but Lance doesn't let go or pull back.

Keith stays perfectly still in Lance’s embrace. He doesn’t know what to do or how to handle this. Lance’s arms are not safe. They’re too small, too thin, too lanky. They don’t fit in the right places. They lack the pressure, the comfort, the security that comes with Shiro’s embrace.

But they’re warm and grounding. And they feel nice. Keith can’t let himself relax in these arms, but he can let himself feel. The hug is more than enough for that.

Lance stiffens when Keith leans a bit into the embrace, his fingers clutching loosely at the back of Lance‘s jacket. Keith feels it, the moment of suspended indecision and then Lance’s arms tighten around his shoulders and Keith can’t stop his content sigh, the pressure clumsy but comforting.

Keith doesn’t say anything more and neither does Lance. There’s nothing else that has to be said at this point.

\---

Lance exits Keith room in a daze, his thoughts a swirling nebula of shock and grim understanding. Because so many things make sense now, so many underlying actions and knife-edge gazes suddenly have meaning beyond the stock image of a cocky prodigious stranger.

A soft weight hitting his shoulder knocks Lance out of his daze, his head whipping up. It’s Shiro.

“Everything alright?”

Lance sniffs and turns away to look at the floor, the weight of Shiro’s compassionate gaze too unbearable to look at.

“I really messed up didn’t I?” Lance laughs ruefully, unable to bring his eyes up from the floor.  
  
“You’re a good kid Lance. It’s unfortunate this had to happen and I’d prefer if nothing like it ever happened again but you shouldn’t beat yourself up over one mistake, especially since you’ve already learned from it. The first step is always understanding.” Shiro’s voice is soft, but underlined with a wistful note of bitterness. Lance wonders if he’s speaking from experience.

“Anyway, how about you go back up to your room and get a good night’s sleep. You look like you need it.”  
  
Lance nods wearily, all the events of the day suddenly catching up with him. Sleep actually sounded really good. He starts to walk in the direction of his room, when he’s suddenly struck by something. Something that had poked against the back of his mind when was talking with Keith. Something that twisted at the pit of his stomach. When he remembered Keith’s violent reaction.

“Um Shiro?” Shiro stops, turns back to him.

“Keith’s – he- it was bad, the thing that made him Claustrophobic, it was really bad, wasn’t it?”

Shiro’s expression shifts so abruptly that Lance actually takes a step back, startled by the pure hate that darkens Shiro’s eyes. It fades as quickly as it comes leaving behind a frightfully blank stare.

“Goodnight Lance.” Shiro’s voice is soft but final. He turns from Lance with out another word. It’s as much of a confirmation as Shiro can give.

\-----

The next day is as normal as any day can be. Coran gets the engine up and running. And they're back on their way. Pidge and Hunk aren't too happy about being shoehorned into disk duty, but they got over it soon enough. Their eyes burn with questions when Lance comes in for breakfast but Lance can only shake his head tiredly at their inquisitive gazes. He’ll tell them later, about the closet incident, about Keith’s claustrophobia but that’s all he’ll tell them. The rest is not his place.

Shiro makes his entrance not too long after Lance, a blearily eyed Keith close to his shoulder. The other Paladin looks much better. There’s more color in his cheeks and the bruises peeking over his bandages look like they’re fading. Shiro’s sharp stare instantly stops any and all questioning and Lance tries not to laugh at the dual expressions of frustration on Hunk and Pidge's faces.

Lance catches Keith eye as he sit down on Shiro’s other side. Lance shoots him a small smile, one that he hopes is filled with the reassurance that what he said yesterday still held up and shows a clear promise to do better.

Keith holds his gaze for a minute , his eyes wide and searching and then tentatively he smiles back.

Everything was going to fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. Have it. All my fluff and angst. I give it to you willingly.


End file.
